Pas De Deux
by Juliet'sEmoPhase
Summary: Harry has a show to put on and the last thing he needs is prima ballerina Draco Malfoy messing things up. But when Draco is injured, the two end up spending more time together and Harry wonders if maybe there's something between them after all? Muggle AU. Smut.


Pas De Deux

1

Harry had worked worse shows.

He couldn't think of any right now, but he was sure he had.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses, trying to sink lower into his seat in the auditorium in the hopes he wouldn't be noticed. As the stage manager, however, people always had problems for him.

Right now, his number one problem went by the name of Draco Malfoy.

Harry wasn't the only one suffering at the hands of their prima ballerina. Currently, Malfoy was standing on the stage managing to have arguments with the director, choreographer, lighting board operator _and_ the makeup artist all at once. It would have been mildly impressive if Harry wasn't sure their star would turn his wrath Harry's way any second.

"How do you expect us to open next week?" Malfoy cried. "This is a shambles! If my _father_ were here…" He grumbled off into inaudible threats, most of which seemed to centre around how his father, a big name in British cinema, would shut them the hell down if he knew what was going on around here.

To his credit (much as Harry was loathed to give it) he genuinely sounded distressed rather than a prissy, demanding dickhead. Although Harry wasn't convinced it was all just an act to get sympathy. Malfoy ran his long fingers through his infuriatingly gorgeous platinum blond hair. Harry could still make out the shining individual strands from where he was sat, several rows back from the stage.

"We're going to look a mess," Draco pleaded. "This isn't safe!"

"Draco, darling, please," their director said, like he was soothing a wild animal. Gilderoy Lockhart was one of the UK's premier directors of contemporary ballet. Despite years of rumours suggesting he stole all his best ideas from small, independent dance companies in Eastern Europe, Harry had to admit that here, in the trenches, the man had a kind of magic about him. It was enough to make Malfoy huff, cross his arms and listen.

"The light keeps blinding me," Malfoy said in his beautifully refined accent. He was seriously posh; just another thing to add to Harry's list of why he was so insufferable.

Still, he had a point. It was a health and safety concern if any of the lights were improperly angled and impairing his vision.

Harry clicked on his walkie talkie. "Ron, are you hearing this?" he asked the lighting board operator up in his booth.

Ron Weasley was a solid guy. He and Harry were genuinely friends outside of the theatre, having worked on several productions together now. This was the first time either of them had been on the crew for a ballet. But apparently Lockhart had sought out the very best in the business London had to offer, and their last director, Minerva McGonagall, had recommended the two of them.

"Yep," Ron's voice crackled in Harry's ear. "It's because he's so bloody tall. None of the other dancers are having this problem. I can fix it if he stops bitching for five minutes."

Harry chuckled. "Thanks, mate." He clicked the walkie talkie off again and waved over at Lockhart. "Lighting can have that fixed in five minutes," he called out. He focused on Lockhart and not Malfoy, trying not to draw his attention.

So far, Harry had managed to stay off their star dancer's radar. He was worried if he got to close to such a beautiful, intimidating man he wouldn't be able to escape. Like a fly caught in a spider's web.

But Malfoy noticed him anyway. _"Thank you,_ Potter" he said with a huff, throwing his hands up. Harry was stunned Malfoy even knew his last name. "At least someone is paying attention. Now, Trelawny, about those _port de bras_ we were discussing."

It sounded like Malfoy was back to arguing about arm motions with the choreographer, so Harry slunk back down in his chair and flipped through his notes once again.

Malfoy was right about one thing. They were opening in a week and there was still an incredible amount to do for this one-off performance. Lockhart was showcasing a new ballet he had been developing (or stealing, as Harry suspected) for a year or so. Apparently, the lead role had been crafted just for Draco Malfoy. Whether that was true or not, Harry really couldn't say.

He still wasn't entirely sure why the guy irked him so much. Obviously, he was stunningly beautiful and insanely talented. But Harry had been working in the theatre circuit for a decade now. He had been around countless men like that. However, none of them had shaken him quite so much as Malfoy.

Harry was fine talking to anybody else in the star's vicinity. But now Malfoy kept shooting Harry glances, forcing him to more-or-less cower behind his notes folder. For fuck's sake, why did Harry have to feel so spineless around him?

Normally, Harry didn't care who he shouted at. As the stage manager, it was his responsibility to make sure the show got off the ground. He called the shots and ensured production ran smoothly. But one snooty blond had him acting like a newbie fresh out of uni all over again.

Damn him.

The other dancers loitered around the stage and wings while Malfoy insisted on several more things being just so. They had a beautiful setting here at Sadler's Wells, one of London's most prestigious ballet theatres. But every day this production was renting the space was a day the Sadler's Wells company itself was not operating. Harry dreaded to think what that was costing.

Lockhart had the money to throw down the drain, though, or so it went on the grapevine. Harry had to say he'd never been paid so well for a production that would only go on for one night. With only two week's rehearsal, he was earning enough to cover him for the next two _months._ He wondered what the dancers were making.

Malfoy looked like he came from money. He was effortlessly stylish, his clothes dripping with labels, and was always talking about eating in restaurants where Harry couldn't even pronounce half the food on offer. He moved like a wild panther, always poised ready to pounce and could silence a room with a look.

It pissed Harry off that a guy like that made him feel tongue tied and inadequate. They were obviously nothing alike, so why the hell should Harry care?

Why did that tiny voice in the back of his head keep wondering what Malfoy thought of him?

Because Harry was good at his job. Because he knew how to coax the best out of performers and bring the greatest show he could to life. Because for over a decade, Harry had been working as part of more teams than he could count, ensuring they ran like well oiled machines.

He was not about to let some _prima donna_ derail an entire production just because he made Harry's heart skip a beat.

Or so he thought.

The music swelled once again from the sound system, filling the auditorium with inspirational notes, strung together with the specific intention of pulling at the audience's hearts. Malfoy moved perfectly in time with every beat, plucking at the air with his body like a harpist might their instrument. He moved with grace and beauty and a kind of savage power Harry had never witnessed in another human being.

He knew the cues well enough by now. Malfoy weaved his way through several of the other cast members as they pulled and tugged as his clothes, trying to hold him back. Of course, neither Malfoy nor his character were destined to be restrained in any shape or form.

Malfoy ducked his platinum blond hair down, leading with the crown of his head as he broke free of the choreographed throng. He took a breath, as if genuinely distressed, and Harry's chest twanged at his subtle but powerful talent. The rumours had not been exaggerated. Draco Malfoy would have the audience eating from the palm of his hand.

Or, at least, that had been the plan.

Malfoy stepped forward, pointing his right foot as he prepared to spin on his left in a sequence of straight leg fouettes.

Harry hadn't heard of the term fouette before joining this ballet show. But the move consisted of the dancer rising on the ball of their foot as they spun, kicking out the other in front of them, then swinging the lifted foot out as they spun a full circle, repeating the motion over and over until Harry thought they were going to be sick.

Malfoy was never sick.

Though, in one split second he was whirling gracefully, impossibly fast as he spotted his head to the front, whipping around and around.

Then his ankle rolled and he dropped like a sack of potatoes, he arms flailing as he crumpled in a cursing mess of limbs.

" _Fuck!"_ Malfoy screamed.

"House lights!" Harry bellowed into the walkie talkie, leaping to his feet. "First aiders to the stage, right now!"

He scrambled, trying to get over the old folding chairs in the auditorium. Eventually, he threw caution to the wind and trusted his balance, darting over the arm rests which at least did not flick back up just as he tried to step on them.

"Shit, bollocks, _fuck!"_ Malfoy cried as Harry heaved himself up onto the stage, like a swimmer removing themselves from a pool.

"Was it the lighting?" Harry asked with a gasp as he dropped to Malfoy's side. In that moment, he wasn't an elite performer. He was just an injured cast member and Harry didn't feel slightly intimidated at all.

"No," Malfoy snarled.

Lavender Brown, the girl from makeup, skidded to a halt and dropped to her knees, an ice pack fresh with condensation held in her hand.

"Can you tell me were it hurts, Mr Malfoy?" she asked, wrapping the ice in a pink, tasselled scarf she was currently unwinding from around her throat.

He let out a frustrated sounding growl and gestured towards the side of his left foot. "It snapped or popped or whatever you want to call it," he bit out.

Harry wasn't sure, but he felt like under the impatient snootiness, Malfoy was trying to hold back tears.

"It's fine, it's fine," Malfoy said as Lockhart came charging onto the stage, having taken the stairs in a more dignified fashion than Harry. "It's not like we all haven't done this before."

"Not during tech week," one of the other dancers, Blaze Zabini, muttered in a less than caring tone.

Harry flashed his eyes at him, then looked back at Malfoy. "We'll get you to a hospital."

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter," Malfoy said in exasperation. "I assure you, nothing's broken. It's just a pulled ligament. I'll be dancing again in a few days if I rest it and ice it properly."

One of the female leads, a particularly angular girl with a striking black bob of hair called Pansy Parkinson, dropped to her knees and held out her hands. "Take this," she instructed in a no-nonsense manner, giving Malfoy painkillers and a bottle of water.

"This is a disaster," Lockhart moaned, pacing back and forth behind Harry, his hands gripping onto his curly ash-blond hair. "We're ruined."

"We're fine," Harry said with more confidence than he felt. He looked over his shoulder at the director. "That's what understudies are for."

A cool hand brushed his throat as it curled around Harry's T-shirt. He looked back around just in time for Malfoy to yank him two inches away from his face. His eyes – which Harry could now see were grey – blazed with hostility.

"If you give my part away, Potter," Malfoy said in a dangerously low tone. "I will make your life a living hell." He let go of Harry's T-shirt and smiled as he dropped his head back on the boards of the stage. "That ice feels wonderful," he said, his eyelids fluttering shut. "Don't you worry, petals. I'll be back on top before you know it."

For a moment, Harry wasn't sure how to react. Because his body was doing something very strange.

He wasn't sure if it was the physical contact with Malfoy, the not-so-vague threat, or the mention of Malfoy being on top. But Harry's cock was doing something it really shouldn't have been in his jeans.

"Okay, everyone," he said, readjusting himself as subtly as he could. He hoped to dispel the situation before he needed to stand up. "Let's all back off and give Draco some space. We'll start rehearsal again once we've moved him."

"Longbottom," Lockhart said, waving his fingers at a guy called Neville. "You know the part for now, don't you? You can fill in just for this afternoon."

Neville looked stricken, glancing between Malfoy and Lockhart.

"It's _just_ for this afternoon," Harry murmured to Malfoy.

Malfoy flashed his gaze at Harry, glowering for a second. Then he huffed and waved at his fellow cast members. "Go on," he drawled. "It'll be nice to take the afternoon off, for once. Show me what you got. Don't fuck it up."

Harry blew out a small sigh of relief.

It was incredibly frustrating how much he wanted to make Malfoy happy.

2

The next morning found Harry up bright and early, walking from Angel tube station down the high street with a hot coffee in his hand. His breath was cloudy in the cold wintery air and his glasses weren't coping well with the transitions between the humid underground and London's chilly, windy streets. Spring would be on its way soon, or so he told himself.

Although this version of the Sadler's Wells theatre had been refurbished and reopened in the late nineties, some incarnation of it had stood on these grounds since the late sixteen-hundreds. Harry always felt a sense of awe as he stepped through the doors of a place like this each morning. He really did love his job and felt very lucky to be doing it when the arts gave no employment guarantees. But having a gig like this on his CV was going to help him line up the next few jobs, he was certain.

He forcefully reminded himself of that as he stepped into the auditorium and found somebody already sitting in one of the seats he had occupied to watch the rehearsals. Harry paused in his stride, taking in the shock of blond hair shining under the house lights.

Malfoy.

Even from behind there could be no doubt who it was. Harry gritted his teeth. What the hell was Malfoy playing at? If he was injured, he should rest. If he felt the absolute need to watch rehearsals, there were about fifteen hundred other seats he could choose from.

Why was he bothering Harry?

Harry squashed down the little thrill of hope that bubbled up inside him. There was _no way_ Malfoy wanted to hang out and be friends or anything else so ridiculous. He probably just wanted to have a go at Harry for whatever part he played in injuring Malfoy yesterday – as Malfoy no doubt saw it – then he would be on his way, chilling with the likes of Blaise Zabini or Theodore Nott backstage.

Harry took a deep breath and another sip of coffee. Then he strode down the aisle, refusing to be intimidated as he walked sideways along the row. If Malfoy wanted to invade his space, then Harry would accept that challenge.

"Morning, Malfoy," he said as he took the seat two away from the injured dancer. He placed his large binder folder on the chair between them with a loud _thwack_.

"What time do you call this, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, apparently unaffected by Harry's noise making. Malfoy thumbed through his Facebook on his phone and took a sip from a thermos. No doubt some super healthy green tea or the like. Draco Malfoy wouldn't deign to drink a common Starbucks latte, Harry was quite sure.

Harry refused to take the bait from Malfoy's comment. "I'm early, actually," he said.

Malfoy looked up from his phone screen, rolled his eyes, then shot a piercing glare at Harry. However, the lazy, cat-like smile took any of the sting out of it. "Yes, but I'm bored, actually," he said.

Harry held his gaze for only a moment. Then he picked out the latest version of the call sheet from his binder and began going over it, making hand-written notes in pencil where necessary. He was _not_ here to be Malfoy's entertainment. Harry was also _not_ going to ask what he wanted. That would be playing into his hands. No, Harry would sit there and do his bloody job and if Malfoy felt like talking, he could.

Of course Malfoy felt like talking. It ensured the attention stayed turned in his direction.

"So, my ankle is feeling much better, thanks for asking," he said devilishly. He gestured to the foot he had in a compression bandage, perching between the two seats in front of him on the arm rest. "You get used to treating your own injuries in this line of work. Plus, I always get the _really_ good painkillers when I visit the States. The kind they won't sell here. I should be back in rehearsals in a couple of days, no worries."

"Uh huh," said Harry absently.

The other dancers were drifting onto the stage and beginning to stretch. They were like a herd of graceful gazelles, all long limbed and bendy. Harry had noticed they clumped together in cliques; groups of three or four that tended to stay together. All except for Neville Longbottom, Malfoy's understudy, who, for whatever reason, always seemed to be alone.

As Harry was looking at the stage, one of the guys, Blaze, caught his eye. The smile he gave Harry was positively sinful. Slow and sultry with a flick of his dark eyes.

Harry cleared his throat and tried not to blush, darting his gaze back to his notes. That wasn't the first time Blaze had given him a smile like that. Harry wasn't sure what to do about it. He needed to do something, though. What if the guy was interested? It had been far too long since Harry had bagged himself a decent shag.

A sharp tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality. He looked to his left to see Malfoy had leaned over to get his attention. Now his chin was resting on his palm, his elbow on the arm rest as he pouted and raised a single eyebrow at Harry. "Oh, honey, no," he said, like he was pitying Harry.

Immediately, Harry bristled. "What?" he demanded.

" _What?"_ Malfoy imitated. "Darling, Blaze just gave you his 'Come to Bed' eyes, didn't he?"

Malfoy sighed dramatically and rested the back of his hand on his forehead. He was wearing black leggings and a lightweight grey jumper so large he could have fit someone else in there with him. It dropped off his shoulder as he moved, displaying the sharp line of his collarbone and the curve of his bicep.

"So sweet, so innocent," he said to Harry.

Harry ground his teeth together. "This may come as a nasty shock to you, Malfoy," he said. His words were clipped and he kept his eyes on his notes, even though he wasn't really looking at them in this very moment. "But men actually _do_ find me attractive."

It was hard not to jump as Malfoy's long fingers caught a lock of Harry's hair. He let go immediately, but Harry was left with the impression he'd just been caressed. Malfoy's smirk somewhat ruined the moment, however.

"Of course they do, sweetheart," he said. His voice was low and Harry couldn't tell if he was teasing or not. "But Blaze likes to set himself these little challenges every show he does."

Coldness washed through Harry. "Challenges?" he repeated. He was still looking down, trying to pretend he wasn't that interested. But really, he didn't like the sound of that.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Malfoy said. "He picks a guy from the crew, someone other cast members will know, and makes it his business to get them into bed. Usually, he enjoys pushing them into the freakiest sex he can manage, then the second he gets back to rehearsal he divulges every juicy detail to his cronies. Every face the poor man made, every dirty word he uttered in the safety of the bedroom." Malfoy made a noise like air coming out of a balloon. "Re-enacted for everyone else to have a good laugh at."

Harry felt a bit sick. "You're not serious?" he asked, risking glancing over to Malfoy. He didn't look like he was taking the piss.

Malfoy just shrugged and took another sip from his thermos. "I've worked quite a few shows with that one. I like him well enough, but I wouldn't recommend shagging him." He winked at Harry. "He doesn't always go for the crew, you see."

Harry blinked. Wait, did that mean-?

Before he could ask, Malfoy clicked his fingers over at his head, getting the attention of most of the dancers, including Blaze. Malfoy met his gaze, then jerked his thumb at Harry, much to his mortification. Jesus! What was Malfoy doing?

Blaze frowned and Malfoy smirked. "No," Malfoy said quietly, but there was no mistaking what he'd said.

Blaze sneered, like Malfoy was kidding. But Malfoy's expression turned stony and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. Blaze scowled, then turned around to sit and spread out his legs impressively far, his back to Harry and Malfoy as he leaned down until his chest touched the stage.

"Great," Harry grumbled, "now he's going to think I'm a prude. I could have let him down in private."

"Nooo," Malfoy drawled slowly. "Now he knows you're off limits because I fucking said so. And if you think you could have thrown off his advances by yourself, you have no idea what that man is capable of."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Malfoy. As much as he'd wanted to believe a hot guy desired him, he felt strangely touched the lengths Malfoy had just gone to protect him from what could have been a hideous situation.

"Why would you help me?" Harry murmured.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, do _not_ go thinking you're in any way special, Potter," he said. "You're good at your job. I respect that, because it helps me be good at _my_ job. If Blaze wrecks you before we open, I will suffer." He patted Harry's hand. "I'm just looking after myself."

Harry snatched his hand away, all gratitude vanished like smoke through an open window.

"I can look after myself, Malfoy," he muttered.

"Of course you can, dear," Malfoy said, his tone amused.

Harry tried his best to ignore Malfoy after that. Lockhart swept in and clapped aggressively at the cast until they set up for act two. Trelawny was her usual tearful self, either praising the dancers for their execution or trying desperately to infer they did something wrong without actually criticising anyone.

And Harry took notes and made calls and hauled himself backstage when the props table was out of order. He sorted out a dispute over the changing rooms and chased down a delivery for costume and replaced a broken walkie talkie.

But he didn't look at Malfoy.

He didn't want him to know that he'd got under his skin. Because worse than a hot guy flirting, worse than a hot guy potentially fucking him over, was thinking that Malfoy might have actually cared.

Only to find out he didn't.

3

Harry managed to make it through until the next morning without talking to Malfoy again. Sure, Malfoy talked to _him_ consistently. But as it was all twaddle. Harry was safe to ignore it and not have it impact his work.

But the day after the Zabini incident, Saturday, found Malfoy once again sat with Harry in the auditorium. However, for the first few hours he was strangely quiet. He only moved to stretch and roll his still-bandaged foot, and only spoke regarding the performance, and that wasn't even to Harry. He offered advice to both Lockhart and Trelawny regarding staging and execution as well as calling out to several of the dancers with opinions on their performances.

Remarkably, almost everyone accepted his notes without question. Zabini got snooty and tried to argue back once, but Malfoy just shrugged and told him he was right, so Zabini could either listen or not. Malfoy didn't care.

Zabini listened.

Malfoy really knew his onions. Harry found himself sympathising with him being immobilised with his injury. He honestly did live and breathe dance.

But Harry was still fuming at being mocked by both Malfoy and Zabini. Zabini he could just roll his eyes at and go back to treating like a formal work colleague. But Malfoy…for a second Harry had really felt a connection between them. To have Malfoy scoff at him and explain he was only looking out for his own selfish needs made Harry feel like a fool.

The trouble was, Malfoy seemed to have worked out he'd seriously fucked up.

" _Potteeer,"_ he whined sometime around half past ten. He leaned over the arm rest; the spare seat between the two of them again. "Potter, come on. It's no fun if you keep on punishing me. Does it really matter if I was protecting myself if I helped you out too? Potter. _Harry."_

"I'm working, Malfoy," Harry said. He pushed his glasses up and resolutely ignored the way hearing Malfoy call him 'Harry' made him feel.

"No, you're not," Malfoy said in a sing-song voice. He dropped his head back and made a popping noise with his lips. "You're doodling cartoons of fish, I can see."

Harry ground his teeth and held his notes closer to his chest, unwilling to admit Malfoy was right. "What do you want?" he asked instead.

"Coffee," Malfoy said. "And not the shit stuff they have in the kitchen backstage. Let's go to the independent place over the road. They do positively sinful pastries in there too."

Harry glanced over to see Malfoy wiggle his eyebrows at him. Harry's heart swooped, but he determinedly stomped the feeling down.

"You want me to go get you a coffee?" he asked incredulously.

Malfoy huffed and sat up straight, looking Harry dead in the eye. "Stop it," he said. "Look, maybe I said it wrong, but I care that Zabini didn't fuck you over, all right? You're a nice guy who doesn't deserve that. I'm not a…" He waved his hand back and forth and rolled his eyes. "Fluffy sort of person. Feelings are messy and unnecessary half the time. So it's just easier for me to explain things more clinically. Yes, your capacity to be the best stage manager for my production might have been hindered if Zabini humiliated you in front of everyone. But…" he pulled at the edge of his thumbnail and huffed again. "I'm not actually a monster. I intervened because I didn't want to see you get hurt. _But,"_ he added loudly, "seeing as you're such a precious flower and took it all so damn personally, I would like to buy you a coffee to apologise." He batted his golden lashes at Harry and gave him a cheeky grin. "Please."

Harry's heart contracted. When Malfoy put it like that, what he'd done didn't sound so bad anymore. Besides, he actually _wasn't_ doing anything at that precise moment. "Um, okay," Harry said.

Malfoy's face broke into a large grin. "Excellent. I can't carry coffee with my crutches." Harry's eyes went wide, but before he could scowl, Malfoy burst out laughing. "I'm _kidding._ Sort of. I can't carry much in fact, but if I just wanted a mule I'd send someone random. Have some faith I actually want to spend some time with you. Come on, and try and keep up."

He winked as he gathered up his crutches. Harry bit his lip and rose to his feet at as well. He was still apprehensive as to what Malfoy really wanted, but he was willing to give him a chance.

Malfoy wasn't kidding; he was actually pretty damn fast on those crutches as he sailed out of the auditorium and into the theatre lobby. "Have you been off your feet before?" Harry asked, impressed as he looked down at Malfoy's feet.

Malfoy threw him a grin when he glanced back up. "Why, Harry? Are you trying to get me on my back?"

Harry blushed. God damn it. Not only was that the second time Malfoy had called Harry 'Harry' when Harry was determinedly trying to keep him 'Malfoy' and not 'Draco' in his head. But his head was spinning with the back and forth on all these sexual inuendoes.

"Bugger off, Malfoy," Harry managed to mutter. But that just made the bastard laugh.

"Okay," Malfoy said firmly as they stepped out into the cool, fresh air. "I have a request – two, actually – if we're going to be friends."

"Who says I want to be friends?" Harry said guardedly before he could think.

But Malfoy apparently didn't take it as an insult. In fact, he laughed again. _"I_ do," he said, smugly. The git. "So, request number one: you have to let me tease you, otherwise it's simply no fun and all."

Harry arched an eyebrow at him as they walked down the road, the traffic trundling along beside them as pedestrians in thick coats gave Malfoy and his crutches a wide birth.

"And number two?" Harry asked. He didn't want to commit to anything yet by agreeing to Malfoy's first demand.

Malfoy gave him a half smile. Harry's heart wanted to flip like it had when Zabini had given him a similar sort of smile. But that had been fake and this one was probably more to do with Malfoy's own amusement than it was flirting with Harry.

"Request number two is that you call me Draco," Malfoy said.

The wind whipped up his silvery blond hair and had already given his cheeks a slight pink tinge. Dear lord, he was beautiful.

Harry swallowed any physical reaction down. "What's wrong with calling you Malfoy?" he asked.

Malfoy shrugged. "Nothing," he said capriciously, like it was an inside joke Harry wasn't privy to. "I'd just like you to call me by my first name."

Harry glanced over at his companion, who wasn't so much hobbling as gliding down the pavement. They were almost at the coffee shop. A petty part of Harry wanted to dig his heels in, because it was safer to call Malfoy by his surname than his given name. But the other half of him was fizzing with excitement that Malfoy – Draco – had bestowed such an honour on him.

"Fine," Harry said, trying not to smile. _"Draco._ You win."

Draco beamed and wiggled his shoulders without missing a swing of his crutches. "Excellent. Thank you kindly. Now, to answer your question: no, this isn't the first time I've rolled an ankle. I've pulled and sprained most of the muscles and limbs on my body over the years. That's how I know this isn't too serious." He batted his eyelashes innocently at Harry again. "But I _do_ still need a handsome, strapping man to carry my very heavy coffee back to the theatre for me."

Harry scoffed but he also smiled back at him. "Of course you do," he said. He pushed the door open and held it for Draco to enter the coffee shop. 'Handsome'? Harry dismissed the word before it could take root in his brain. Draco probably called all the guys that. It wasn't anything special.

But Draco paused when he was face-to-face with Harry. "See," he said playfully his gaze flicking up and down Harry's body. "You're my hero."

Harry tried very hard not to let his heart run away of its own accord. Draco was just flirting. He flirted with everyone, didn't he? And he'd already admitted he wasn't above looking out for Harry if it got him what he wanted. Keeping Zabini from fucking Harry saved the production for Draco. So giving Harry the come-on now was just his way of saying thank you for enabling him to take his coffee back to the theatre.

Right?

4

The next few days became more and more intense around the production. Lockhart tried to bully Draco into coming back to rehearsals, but Draco insisted his ankle wasn't ready yet. However, he also stubbornly insisted he would be recovered in time for the performance, so long as he didn't push his injury too hard too soon.

Trelawny was clearly anxious about the whole thing and the rest of the performers were growing mutinous. But it was in Draco's contract that he couldn't be substituted unless he consented. Which he absolutely refused to even consider.

That meant a lot of the pressure fell on his understudy, Neville Longbottom.

He was an interesting character, Harry observed. He was strikingly good-looking with a chiselled jaw, ripped body, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. But Harry got the impression that hadn't always been the case. Neville was shy and underconfident, despite his clear talent for dance. If no one was watching, he was breath-taking in his execution of the choreography. But the second the rest of the company were around, he fell to pieces.

"Not to worry, not to worry," Trelawny uttered, positively in tears behind her milk-bottle-bottom glasses. She wrung her shaking hands and tugged at her multicoloured scarf as Neville gripped his hair. He'd just messed up the _pas de deux_ section, again.

His partner, an ethereal and patient dancer called Luna, just smiled sweetly at him. "You're over-thinking it," she offered kindly and placed a hand over his heart. "It's all here. Forget the choreography."

"No, no," Trelawny said somewhat hysterically, then laughed. "Let's _not_ forget the choreography. Let's take it from the top, perhaps, hmm? Neville, dear? Just remember the relèvé before the grand jete, hmm? And _smile._ You're in love with our darling Luna here, remember?"

"Yes, sorry," Neville stammered.

"Yeah, because relèvés _are_ really hard to remember," Zabini drawled as the cast retook their positions.

Several of the other dancers laughed and Neville went beetroot, staring at the floor as the music was cued up.

Draco huffed from beside Harry. There was no chair between them today. "They either need to treat him like the lead or fucking cast someone else," he grumbled. "This – this is the kind of unprofessional shit that undoes a production."

Harry turned and arched an eyebrow at him, but Draco was staring intently at the stage. Harry could practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he assessed everything going on under the bright lights.

Harry licked his lips. "Is there something I can do to help?"

Draco gave him one of his wicked half-smiles. "If you felt like telling Gilderoy over there to calm the fuck down, that would be great," he said.

Harry looked over to the aisle in the auditorium where Lockhart was currently pacing and gnawing on his production notes like a mountain goat. _"Again, Longbottom!"_ he screamed before poor Neville had even completed the section. "You have both a right and a left foot, not two left, I assure you!"

Draco curled his lip and shook his head. "The man is fine working with already well-moulded talent. He doesn't give a fuck about nurturing a performance. He really is such a fraud."

Harry considered Draco as he rubbed his chin and frowned at Neville, who took a deep breath, trying to centre himself before they began again.

Was this Draco trying to save his own ass again? Harry couldn't see it like that, though. Yes, he could well be trying to make sure the show didn't fail and tarnish his reputation. But surely, if that was Draco's only goal, he would want Neville to fail so he could easily step back into the role once his ankle was healed. To Harry, it seemed like he was genuinely concerned that Neville get the most out of this experience for Neville's own sake.

It was…extremely attractive.

No. Harry needed to step away from that line of thought immediately. He and Draco were simply hanging out because of his injury. They wouldn't be friends otherwise. Harry needed to remember that, or he was going to make a fool out of himself.

Yes, Draco was astonishingly good-looking and Harry had a hard time keeping control of his body whenever they got too close or Draco gave him one of those flirty smiles. But Harry could manage the butterflies in his stomach and the stirrings in his jeans so long as he reminded himself that he and Draco had _nothing_ in common. They would never work together.

Harry took things as they came and wore his heart on his sleeve. Draco liked to play games. Harry was thrifty and Draco clearly liked the finer things in life. Harry could barely walk in a straight line while Draco glided like an angel sent from heaven.

There was little point in making himself crazy over a bit of lust. The show would be over by Friday. In three days, everything would be done and dusted and chances were Harry wouldn't see Draco again. Yes, the theatre circuit in London was pretty tight, but Draco was in ballet and travelled all over the world. Their paths weren't likely to cross.

Unless Draco added Harry on Facebook. Or took his number.

No, Harry wasn't going to hope for anything like that and he certainly wasn't going to suggest it himself. It would be best all round if he lest Draco Malfoy slip from his life.

Harry needed to find a boyfriend more like himself. There was that Cedric guy he'd hooked up with a little while back. Maybe he should call him back?

Harry's musings were interrupted as Lockhart decided to rearrange one of the scenes, changing up the cues and blocking and even some of the props. So Harry had to leave Draco sitting alone for the rest of the afternoon as he ran around making sure everything was in order and liaising with the backstage crew.

By the time Harry went to take a seat again to observe the rehearsal, Draco had gone.

Harry frowned. They still had a couple of hours before they wrapped for the day. Had Draco left for home? That wasn't like him to miss out on a single second of the goings on. Harry felt Draco was determined to be one hundred percent up to speed by the time he came back into the production.

Harry laughed to himself. He realised Draco was rubbing off on him. He had thought 'when' – not 'if' – he would come back.

Harry had faith in him. Which is why his absence now worried him.

Trelawny was going over one of the numbers with the female members of the cast and Lockhart was sprawled out over several chairs with a cold compress over his forehead. Draco could very well be hanging out with the other guys in one of the dressing rooms, or perhaps he'd gone with one of them to get coffee.

Not Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes at himself. For fuck's sake. The man was allowed to have _friends._ He didn't have to hang out with Harry twenty-four-seven. This spike of jealousy was fucking ludicrous.

Still, Harry couldn't entirely justify why he found himself wandering backstage. He told himself that the number they were rehearsing was the most solid of almost the entire production, so he wasn't needed. And he just wanted to make sure Draco was okay.

Fine. He was perhaps a little bit besotted. But it wasn't really hurting anyone, was it? He wasn't expecting anything to come from it. So why not make sure their star performer hadn't fallen down a stairwell and needed an ambulance?

Of course Draco wasn't sprawled at the bottom of the stairs. But he wasn't with Zabini and the other guys in the break room either. Zabini's face lit up when Harry poked his head around the door, though.

"Potter," he drawled.

A smile slowly creeped over his face as he lounged on the old green sofa next to the table with the kettle and microwave. Theo Knott had his feet on his lap and was massaging his calves through his leggings. Nott's gaze travelled lazily up and down Harry before he went back to Zabini's legs.

"I was just looking for Dr-Malfoy," Harry said, eager to leave before he got eaten alive. He didn't think Draco was wrong about the whole seduction plot. Zabini bit his lower lip and batted his long, dark lashes at Harry.

"He's not here, but we could keep you entertained," he said in a sultry voice. Wow. This guy did not do subtle.

Harry gave him a nervous laugh, already closing the breakroom door. "Another time maybe, mate," he said, not hanging around waiting for a reply.

Out in the windowless corridor again, he shook himself and carried on glancing through doors along the hall. There were a couple of storage cupboards; one for props and another two for male and female costumes. Then Harry found himself at the two rehearsal rooms.

He stopped.

Through the window in the door of the first room, he recognised Draco's shock of light blond hair immediately. He was standing without his crutches, although he was holding onto the barre with his back to the mirrored wall, the crutches propped up next to him.

"That's it," he said, nodding. His voice was muffled through the door and window. His eyes moved around the room, watching something. "You've got it! Now follow through with the arms, tilt your head…keep focused. Like that, yes! Now into the turns. Spot!"

Harry frowned. He felt wrong spying on Draco, but he wasn't sure who he was talking to with such animation on his face. It tugged at Harry's heart. That ugly green jealousy monster tried to rear its ugly head. But when Harry stepped slightly closer and looked to the right, his heart melted.

Neville was dancing.

And he was _really_ dancing. The timid rabbit from before was gone and he was looking magnificent. He finished the turns with a leap and brought his feet into second position, bowing his head and posing his arms the both power and delicacy. It was impressive.

"Harry!"

Harry jumped and snapped his head back toward Draco. But Draco wasn't mad he'd been watching. In fact, he was beaming.

"Come in, come in," he cried. Then he looked to Neville as Harry cracked open the door. "You can do it again for Harry, can't you?" he asked Neville. Harry felt like it was more of an instruction, but at least he'd posed it as a question.

"Uh, sure," Neville said. He gave Harry a semi-confident smile and rubbed the back of his neck. "Only if you don't mind, Harry? I mean, Draco's going to be back in the show, I'm sure. This is just for fun."

"I'd love to see," Harry said quickly. He grinned at Neville as he stood by Draco. Not too close. He didn't want his body to betray him. "It was looking brilliant."

"Draco's a good teacher," Neville said warmly as he set himself up. "He helped me get out of my head."

"I did no such thing," Draco said snootily. "I bullied you until you did it right." He winked at Neville. "Don't you go giving me a reputation as some sort of softy."

Neville chuckled and began counting quietly under his breath. Then he burst into life, executing the moves even better than when Harry had watched through the glass. When he completed the section, both Harry and Draco gave him a heartfelt round of applause.

"Nice one, mate!" Harry cried. "You smashed it."

Neville grinned and picked up a bottle of water from the side. "It'll be good to show the others I _can_ do it," he said once he'd had a drink. "Even if it is only for rehearsal today."

Draco shrugged. "You might _actually_ have to do it," he said calmly. "My ankle still isn't a hundred percent."

"Then why are you standing?" Harry cried in alarm. He dashed to get one of the chairs stacked up in the corner. "Sit, you numpty."

Draco looked from the chair Harry had placed beside him and Harry's face in amusement. "Thank you, Harry," he said, with a quirk of his lips.

"Hey, Draco?" Neville asked as Draco gingerly sat.

Harry wondered if he'd made too much of a fuss. But the man was a god damn prima ballerina. His body was his main tool. He needed to take care of it or his career would be over.

Draco raised his eyebrows at Neville as he placed the water back down again. "Yes?"

Neville was blushing. Harry wasn't sure why. "I, uh. That spin you do with Luna. Can you show me how to hold my arms properly? I want to get it right." His blush deepened.

Aww. Did he fancy Luna? They'd make an adorable couple, Harry had to say.

Draco beckoned him forward. "Sure," he said. "Practice with Harry. Harry, you don't mind stepping in a second and being Luna, do you? Neville will do all the work."

Harry shrugged. "As long as you don't actually expect me to dance," he said with a chuckle.

Neville looked a little bashful as he placed his hands gently on Harry's shoulders and turned him around. Then he lifted Harry's hands until his arms were in a T shape. "That alright, mate?" he asked.

"Sure," Harry assured him, feeling quite comfortable. Neville probably didn't know he was gay, but straight or queer, Harry never saw much point in getting flustered in close proximities. Everyone had a body and sometimes it was nice to be near other people, even if it wasn't sexual.

This clearly was meant to be a romantic move, however. Neville brushed his knuckles down the side of Harry's neck, giving him goose bumps, then ran both his hands along Harry's outstretched arms using his fingertips, gently entwining their fingers.

"Nice," Draco said, causing Harry and Neville to look back at him nodding. "But I can see you thinking about every single move. Don't get me wrong," Draco said, holding up his hands, "the moves are flawless. But…treat it more like breathing. It's coming from the heart, not the head. Try again."

Harry stood still, allowing Neville to repeat the sequence. Draco tilted his head and pulled a face when he was done.

"Still no?" Neville asked, slightly crestfallen.

"It's my fault," Harry said quickly, feeling bad. "I'm not giving you anything to work with."

Draco scoffed and stood up. "Don't be stupid," he said simply as he walked carefully towards them without the aid of the crutches. "It's fine Neville. Let me show you, that might help?"

"Oh, sure," said Neville eagerly as he stepped aside.

Harry thought his heart might stop.

Draco was going to do that same move to him?

Before he could really consider what was happening, Draco was standing behind him, his chest brushing against Harry's back. "Just relax," he murmured into Harry's ear.

Then his cool, long fingers were trailing down Harry's neck, over his shoulders and along his arms. Their hands connected and Harry's heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Draco's breath whispered across Harry's skin, and he looked over his shoulder into Draco's silvery-grey eyes.

"Oh, wow, cool!" Neville cried.

Harry blinked and looked away. Shit. Another second and he might have done something crazy.

Like kiss Draco.

"I see what you mean," Neville said, completely oblivious. He nodded and frowned in concentration. "Thanks, Draco."

"I – I should go," Harry stammered. He managed a nervous laugh as he stepped away from Draco. Jesus. His jeans were becoming uncomfortable. "I'm probably needed back in the auditorium. Glad I could help, though. Nice work, Neville, you've got this." He cleared his throat. "Draco, are you, um, staying here? Do you need help walking back?"

Draco looked amused again. Great. He probably thought Harry was a complete dork.

"I'll be fine," he said. "Catch you later, Harry."

Harry fumbled his way out the door before he could embarrass himself any further.

5

"Harry!"

Harry stopped walking down the aisle of the auditorium and turned back to see Draco beaconing him from the stage with a crooked finger. Harry looked around in confusion. Rehearsal had finally ended for the day after overrunning a couple of hours. But it had been worth it. The change in Neville was noticeable and moral was up for the entire cast and crew.

Harry had to say he'd been looking forward to grabbing an Indian takeaway on the way home and a pack of beer so he could crash on the couch. He was knackered. But Draco had reappeared and now he was calling Harry back.

So of course Harry went.

Maybe Draco had been watching from the wings? Harry had missed him by his side that afternoon, but he'd also acknowledged some time apart was probably for the best. His body got all tingly just thinking about what had happened earlier in the rehearsal room.

By the time Harry reached the stage, Draco had sat himself on the edge, dangling his feet off the side. He was grinning at Harry as several of the other cast members chatted excitedly behind him. Most of the crew, including Lockhart and Trelawny, had either already left the building or had made themselves scarce working in their own departments.

"What's up?" Harry asked as he stopped in front of Draco. He hoped he sounded casual, even though his heart was already banging in his chest. Traitorous thing.

Draco waggled his eyebrows at him. "We're going out for a drink," he said, jerking his thumb behind him to indicate the other dancers. "Join us."

Harry's heart went from beating fast to not at all, or so it felt. "Oh, no," he stammered. "I couldn't – I mean, I don't want to intrude."

Draco frowned. "Why on Earth would you be intruding?"

Harry could feel himself starting to blush. "Because you're all dancers," he managed to say without tripping over his words too much.

Draco laughed. "Oh, don't be daft, that doesn't matter," he said and winked at Harry. "It's an open invitation, anyway. If we see any more of the crew on our way out, they'd be more than welcome to come."

Harry glanced at the gaggle of dancers. Zabini was among them, but so was Neville and Luna as well as a guy called Terry Boot that Harry quite liked. Pansy, one of the women, saw him looking and crouched down behind Draco, draping her arms over his shoulders. She smiled at Harry like a cat who'd cornered a mouse.

"Hello, sweetie," she purred. "Are you going to come out and play?"

"Well, um," Harry said and laughed. "Haven't you guys got rehearsals tomorrow?"

He knew fun well they did, because he set the schedules. But he felt out of his depth and wanted to stall for time. Did he really feel able to spend time with Draco socially, outside the theatre? That could be a disaster if he wasn't careful.

Neither Draco nor Pansy called him out for being a spoil sport though. Pansy just chuckled, kissed Draco's cheek, and stood to take Parvati Patil by the hand to discuss what they were wearing. Leaving Harry with Draco.

"Come on, now, Harry," Draco said with a smirk. "Live a little. I promise we'll get you home in time for bed."

Shivers fluttered over Harry's whole body. He hoped Draco didn't notice. God damn it. Why did the man have to be such a _flirt?_

But was Harry really going to pass up this chance? What was his other option? Go home alone and watch the telly?

"Sure," he blurted before he could change his mind. "I could come out for one."

A slow, lazy smile crept over Draco's face. "Excellent," he said.

Harry had imagined they might go home and change. But it was already close to eight o'clock and no one seemed interested in wasting time to make a stop for fresh clothes. Harry supposed it was easy when you were so fit and good looking. You could throw some eyeliner on and go partying in work-out gear and not feel self-conscious.

He himself would have appreciated a shower and a nicer shirt. But he found himself bundled into his coat and shepherded out the door between Draco and Pansy, Neville and Luna chatting happily behind them as they stepped out into the cold evening air. At least those two seemed to be getting along well.

Harry wasn't sure what to make of Pansy. But she and Draco talked to each other with Harry between them as they walked down the street. They were discussing a production they'd worked on previously and one of the former cast members who had apparently been sleeping with three different people at once and caused quite the scene the other night.

Harry didn't know who they were talking about, but Draco kept making eye contact with him as they gossiped, making Harry feel involved. It was kind of nice.

Harry was expecting to go to a pub. But Draco steered them into an ally Harry might have missed entirely if he'd been walking alone. "The Leaky Cauldron?" he asked dubiously, reading the sign as Draco pulled him into a dark bar with tinted windows.

"Trust me," Draco said with a wink.

Almost immediately, Harry pegged this small club as being both LGBT and slightly on the kinky side. It was subtle, unlike the bars along Great Compton Street in Soho. There weren't rainbows everywhere. But it had a boudoir sort of feel with black leather seats and red lighting, gilded mirrors and a couple of chandeliers hanging from the walls and ceiling. Framed black-and-white photos of same-sex couples in BDSM gear were positioned here and there, in such a way you had to be paying attention to spot them.

The music was thumping in a remix of a popular song Harry couldn't immediately identify. But several of the cast were already drifting to the dance floor, their arms raised to the roof and their heads dropped back, loosing themselves in the beat.

"Drink?"

Harry tried not to jump too much as he snapped his head to see Draco standing at his shoulder. He'd spoken into Harry's ear, and now their faces were awfully close together.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks," Harry stammered. He had a feeling he'd need a bit of Dutch courage. This was a whole different level compared to chilling at the local pub.

This was the kind of place people came with the intention of getting fucked.

Wiping the condensation off his glasses, Harry followed Draco to the bustling bar counter. The place wasn't huge but it was pretty full considering it was a Wednesday night. Draco held his hand back, reaching for Harry behind him. Without thinking too much into it, Harry took it.

He kept behind him while Draco angled his way to the bar, leaning over to give his order to the topless barman in jeans and a black leather collar. Harry's hand felt like it was burning as it clung to Draco's, but it a good way. A way that made his crotch tingle for the second time today.

"Here," Draco shouted over the music, grabbing Harry's attention. He handed him a clear shot. "On three," Draco instructed, waggling his eyebrows.

Harry opened his mouth to ask what it was. But then he decided he didn't care. The time for being shy and cautious was done. He was ready to start being a bit more adventurous.

He and Draco looked into each other's eyes as he counted them down from three and they knocked back the shot. Sambuca. It burned Harry's throat and he instinctively flinched, gipping Draco's hand hard. Draco laughed and placed his glass down, then plucked Harry's from his hand as Harry coughed and blinked tears from his eyes. Their fingers brushed, reminding Harry to ease his death-grip on Draco's other hand.

"There you go," Draco said, passing Harry a beer bottle. Then he held up one of his own to clink together. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Harry said back, taking a drink to wash away the aniseed that was already curling in his stomach. But his head felt slightly floaty already and he smiled at Draco. "I suppose you want to dance," Harry said, flicking his eyes to the floor where most of the rest of the people they'd come in with were grinding and spinning around.

But Draco shook his head. "I should probably rest my foot for a bit," he said. It was only then Harry realised he hadn't brought his crutches out with him. "Why don't we sit?"

Draco jutted his chin over the heads of the throng at the bar to a dark corner where Neville, Luna and Terry had managed to snag a table. Harry was happier to chill with some of the quieter members of the party, he had to admit. He wasn't sure he could keep up with the wild ones.

But that meant Draco was willing to sit at the 'boring' table. With Harry. Harry allowed him to lead him back through the crowd while biting his lip. Did that mean something? Or was Draco really just resting his injured foot?

"Hey, guys!" Neville cried out cheerfully. Harry wondered if he was hyped that someone as popular as Draco had come to sit with him and the others. It was one thing for Draco to work with him one-on-one; but to acknowledge him in public was pretty awesome.

Harry's heart swelled. As much as Draco liked to come across as too cool for school, he was actually pretty kind and thoughtful.

"Neville," Draco said as he and Harry draped their coats over the backs of two free seats. Draco sat down on one of the chairs. "Nice work today," he said as he clinked bottles with Neville. Harry tried not to feel disappointed that they had let go of each other's hands as he sat down on another chair. But then Draco's hand rested on his knee, like it was a perfectly normal thing to do.

Harry tried to concentrate as Draco talked to the others about how the show was going. They were hashing out one of the numbers Neville had been understudying for Draco today, discussing the merits of doing the choreography one way or another. Harry nodded and followed along with the terminology as best he could. But his whole mind and body was pretty much concerned with the hand on his knee.

To him it said only one thing: This man is mine. Hands off.

But they hadn't discussed anything like that. They hadn't even kissed or asked each other out. Well…Harry supposed Draco had asked him here. But that was with everyone else. It wasn't a date. Was it?

He shifted his body weight so he was slightly angled to Draco and took another sip of beer to fortify himself. Then he rested his hand on top of Draco's.

Draco immediately looked over at him and smiled, then went back to listening to Luna talk excitedly about the production she was going to be working on after this one. Harry's heart sped up. Draco looped one of his fingers around Harry's, inviting him to keep his hand where it was.

Fuck. _Fuck._ Was Draco making a move? Was that what Harry wanted?

Oh, who was he trying to fool? Of course it was. Even if it was just a onetime thing, Harry was _aching_ for Draco.

Draco suddenly jerked his head and looked up. The song had just changed. "Oh my god," Draco breathed excitedly. "I love this song. Where's Pansy? Pansy!"

He looked out to the dance floor where Pansy was eagerly beaconing Draco to her. Draco let go of Harry's hand and knee and stood.

"Come dance!" he said giddily to Harry.

"Oh, no," Harry said before he could even think. But this was Draco's thing with his friends. Harry couldn't dance like them and this song obviously held special meaning for Draco.

Really though, Harry didn't think he was worthy to get up there with Draco. It was one thing to hold hands in the dark. It was another thing entirely to act like they were equals. Draco was meant for the spotlight. Harry was fine hanging in the shadows.

"Go have fun," Harry insisted, putting on a smile.

Draco smiled back and squeezed his shoulder. "Okay," he said, leaving Harry behind.

It was fine, he told himself as he turned his back to the dance floor. Draco would be back to rest his foot soon enough. In the meantime, Harry was really enjoying Neville, Luna and Terry's chat. They were fun and absorbed him back into their conversation easily.

The minutes ticked by and the song changed again. But Harry didn't look over his shoulder. He didn't need to. Draco was off having fun and that made Harry happy. Gradually, he stopped thinking of Draco and became engrossed in a lively conversation about politics.

Until Neville looked over Harry's shoulder to the dance floor and his face dropped.

Harry wasn't able to stop himself snapping his attention over his shoulder, too. What he saw made his heart plummet into his trainers.

Draco was still dancing with Pansy, a new beer in his hand. But Zabini's chest was pressed up to his back, his hands on Draco's hips, one sliding under his T-shirt to touch his bare stomach. As Harry watched, Draco turned in Zabini's arms to face him, the two of them moving in time to the music.

A wave of nausea rolled over Harry as he snapped his head back around to the table. He was a fucking idiot.

Draco didn't do anything unless it was of benefit to him. He'd been nice to Harry to make the show run smoothly. Just like he'd warned Zabini away from Harry's bed.

All those moves, all the flirting. Had Draco been working on his own bet? Had he challenged himself to fuck Harry just like Zabini had? Were they in on this together?

Or had Draco just been toying with Harry for a laugh, when the truth is he was into Zabini all along? They had far more in common than Harry and Draco had, after all.

Either way, Harry felt stupid and used. He stood and grabbed his coat. "Sorry, guys," he said as the other three blinked at him in surprise. "I'm not feeling great. I'm going to head home."

"Are you all right, Harry?" Neville asked in concern.

"Do you need someone to go with you?" Luna asked.

Harry shook his head. "No, it's okay. I'm fine. I'm just going to head to bed."

"Take care, mate," Terry said with a frown.

Harry nodded and turned away before his face betrayed him. He felt like he'd been kicked in the gut.

He didn't look at the dance floor as he made his way across the bar. He just pushed through the crowd, keeping his eyes on the floor. When he rubbed them, he told himself if was just the stinging night air after being in the hot club making them water.

6

"I lost you last night?"

Harry looked up from where he was sat in the control booth at the back of the Sadler's Wells auditorium. Draco was stood in the doorway, smirking at him.

Harry almost changed his mind and gave in. But the he glanced at Ron sat next to him. He subtly raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

No. Harry had to be strong.

"Your foot must be feeling better if were able to climb all the way up here," Harry said, flicking through the cue sheet. They had dress rehearsal today and he couldn't be fucking around.

Draco frowned, like he didn't follow Harry's comment. "Oh, yes, thanks," he said with a smile. "I should be able to perform tomorrow, thank goodness. I'll spend today stretching and marking through the choreography."

"That's good," Harry said, determinedly writing an additional comment on his notes. This was crazy. There was no reason for his heart to be breaking. He and Draco were never even together.

"So, did I bore you last night?" Draco pressed, raising his eyebrows. "You didn't say goodbye."

Harry tried not to huff and gritted his teeth. Jesus, Draco had enjoyed his fun, whatever it had been. Did he really have to torment Harry further? The bottom line was if he cared about Harry at all he wouldn't have ditched him to practically have sex with Zabini on the dance floor.

"I had a headache," Harry said with a tight smile. He looked over at Draco. "Besides, someone has to run today. It didn't seem like a good idea to get drunk and do something I'd regret."

The smile melted from Draco's face. "I see," he said curtly. "Well. You're clearly busy. I'll leave you to it, Potter."

The use of his last name stung. But when Draco left, Harry breathed out in relief. Good. If they stopped playing games, it would make their lives easier.

They just had to get through this show tomorrow night.

"Nice one, mate," Ron said. Harry looked back over at him and he nodded at Harry. "Dodged a bullet there, I reckon."

Harry hummed but didn't reply either way. He honestly wasn't sure how he felt. It was probably for the best Draco had backed off. Harry needed to let the hurt that was curled around his heart fade away. Whatever there had been between him and Draco hadn't been real, so he needed to forget about it.

Not long afterwards, their sound guy, Lee Jordon, joined them. Any further conversation regarding Draco and Harry's feelings for him was mercifully put on hold indefinitely.

The day went well in terms of rehearsals. Draco walked through his part like he said he was going to, but Neville didn't seem put out he had been relegated back to the chorus again. In fact, he seemed very cheerful indeed. Harry wondered if that had anything to do with the looks he and Luna kept sharing. He hoped so and was happy for them if that was the case.

Someone around her deserved a bit of luck.

When it came to the fouette section, Draco didn't even attempt them. He just did the arm motions then moved swiftly on to the next bit of chorography, despite Lockhart pulling at his hair and hissing that he needed to 'see his vision properly'.

"It makes sense for Malfoy to rest," he said to Lockhart over the walkie talkie system, calming him down. "If he says he can do it tomorrow, he'll do it. Besides, his health and safety is paramount above all else."

Lockhart grumbled that Harry was probably right and moved on to the next section of the performance. Harry glanced around and realised Ron and Lee were both looking at him.

"What?" he asked with a frown.

Ron raised his eyebrows and held up his hands. "Nothing, mate."

Harry frowned and went back to following the show. They could give him looks all they wanted. He was just doing his job. So what if that involved worrying over Draco?

When the rehearsal finished for the day, there was a slightly tense atmosphere in the air. It had gone okay overall, but Harry got the impression several people were anxious having not run the choreography full out. Harry told himself he should be annoyed at Draco for stressing his fellow cast members out. But he found he couldn't be. This role had been crafted for Draco and Harry knew he would smash the show tomorrow. This was what he was born to do and Harry wanted to see Draco flying high.

Even if he had been cruel to Harry.

Harry left as soon as he was able to that evening, not speaking to anyone or making any eye contact. He didn't want to have to make any excuses if anyone asked him to be sociable. But he couldn't bear to see Draco draping himself all over Zabini again.

Instead, he took himself home with the curry and beers he had promised himself the evening before and watched a dumb movie full of loud explosions. He slept poorly, dreaming of silver-grey eyes, crinkled with laughter as Draco mocked Harry for ever thinking there could be anything between them.

xxx

The day of the show was upon them and it was fraught with tension. Dancers snapped at each other and Trelawny spent the entire afternoon on the brink of tears as they ran the sections she was most concerned about. Draco was almost back to full form, but he still refused to do any spins or leaps or anything else that put pressure on his ankle.

"You're being a fucking precious princess," Zabini snarled after Draco yet again calmly declined to run the fouette section. "Just do the damn moves so we can work around you. You're not the only dancer on stage, no matter what you think."

Harry's heart jumped into his throat. That wasn't fair. Draco was doing his best. Zabini shouldn't talk to him like that, especially if they were involved.

Then Harry reminded himself it was none of his business what Draco and Zabini did.

Draco didn't respond to Zabini's words, but he gritted his teeth and didn't say a word as they moved onto the next section to rehearse. If Harry had to guess, he would have said Draco was rattled.

Before he knew it, the cast disappeared into hair and makeup, getting into costume and having a damn good stretch. Harry walked through backstage to ensure everything was set up as it should be. All the props were in place, outlined with tape on their tables by both sides of the stage. The set was cued up correctly and the lights positioned as they should have been. They were good to go.

Just as he was about to head up to the box with Ron and Lee, Harry pushed a curtain aside and found himself face-to-face with Draco.

For a second, his heart ached with almost physical pain. Wow. He really had thought they'd had something between them, hadn't he? But Draco's face wasn't mocking or sneering as he realised he was in front of Harry again. He looked sad.

He was probably stressed about the show. Zabini had more than likely made him feel like a dickhead for putting everyone's performance at risk by not doing a full, final rehearsal. Even if they were fucking, Draco had obviously been stung by his words.

"Break a leg," Harry said before he could talk himself out of it. He touched Draco's arm briefly and smiled. "You're going to smash it."

Draco appeared to relax slightly, his mouth twitching with a small smile. "Thank you, Harry," he said. His grey eyes flicked out into the darkness of the auditorium. "You'll be watching me," he murmured. It wasn't a question.

A shiver ran over Harry's skin. "Of course," he said.

God damn it. Why did this feel like flirting? Draco had toyed with him enough, surely?

Harry swallowed, too confused. But he didn't have time to fret over weather Draco liked him or not. They had a show to do.

"I'll see you later," Harry said, moving around Draco, back towards the front of house. But he couldn't stop himself glancing behind his shoulder as he left. Draco was watching him walk away, a slight smile on his lips.

Harry chewed his lip all the way back up to the box. He had plenty of things to keep him occupied as the auditorium started filling up with audience members, the hum of their excited chatter buzzing through the air. Reporters lined the first couple of rows and Lockhart conducted a few interviews in the wings.

Harry liaised with Ron and Lee, making sure they were good to go. But then Harry found himself with twenty minutes or so on his hands as the last few patrons took their seats and the dancers got into position while costume and makeup did their last few frantic checks. Harry listened over the walkie talkie, unashamedly trying to catch any mention of how Draco was getting on. But there was none.

Lockhart stood up on stage to rapturous applause. "Thank you, no, thank you," he simpered, holding his hands up like he wanted them to stop. Harry rolled his eyes. He was quite ready to be done with this particular director now.

Lockhart went on to describe some of the inspiration behind tonight's performance. Harry had almost forgot it was also a charity gala, so Lockhart encouraged all of tonight's guests to donate generously in support of arts programmes in under privileged communities. Harry begrudgingly had to admit that was pretty awesome of Lockhart to organise that, but couldn't help but wonder if it was a ploy to distract from rumours he stole his choreography from lesser known dance companies. Either way, it was at least nice to think there would be kids out in the world benefiting from the work they were doing tonight.

If the show went well.

Nerves fluttered through Harry's belly as the music started and the first dancers appeared on stage. By now he was pretty familiar with the sequence of numbers, even without his notes.

He held his breath as he waited for Draco to make an appearance.

He was like a swan as he stepped on stage during the third number to a chorus of wild applause. He was so graceful it made Harry's heart ache. Like the other male dancers, Draco was wearing metallic grey leggings that left absolutely nothing to the imagination and scraps of floaty material over his torso, showing off his lean, muscular chest. The dark eyeliner made it look like his silver eyes were sparkling, even this far at the back of the auditorium.

Harry sighed inwardly and forced himself to focus. He could pine for his missed opportunity after the show was done. Until then, Draco was just another dancer and Harry had a job to do.

They made it through the first act without any major incidents. Harry spent the interval quietly going over the second act cues, which would be about half the length of the first act. They were almost there. He half listened to Ron calling his pregnant girlfriend, Hermione, checking she was okay, while Harry looked down into the half-deserted auditorium. Audience members were busy getting drinks and Lockhart was threatening everyone over the walkie talkies not to fuck anything up in the last forty-five minutes. He wanted this to be a perfect show.

Harry rolled his eyes, tuning him out. As the audience trickled back in for the show to resume, he let it sink in that this was it. He and the other crew would do the breakdown tonight; it wasn't a complicated set, so they would be out of here by midnight, probably. And that would be that.

Maybe he could look up Draco on Instagram. He was bound to have one – a popular one at that. He was so beautiful and talented, people would gobble that up. But did Harry want to be one of those people messaging him over social media? It seemed a bit pathetic.

Perhaps he should just let the door close on this. Nothing had changed, after all. Draco had still used Harry and humiliated him. It was for the best.

It was easier to tell himself that when Draco wasn't on stage in all his glory, looking fucking gorgeous. Harry bit his lip and willed his body not to react as Draco danced among the other performers, his costume so tight and revealing it was almost as if he were naked. He was so powerful and confident, though, it was difficult not to imagine what he might be like in bed.

"What – what is going on?" Lockhart's panicked voice burst over the radio in a crackle of static. Harry jerked back to the here and now, frowning at the stage. Everything looked to be in order, except…was Draco supposed to be that far back with the rest of the chorus dancers?

"Hang on," Harry said in a half-hearted attempt to placate Lockhart.

What was Draco doing?

Ron and Lee were leaning over their desks, as if craning a couple of inches closer would explain what was going on. Then Harry laughed as realisation hit.

"Oh, shit," he said, unable to stop himself grinning. "He's swapping out with Neville."

Lockhart was spewing expletives over the walkie-talkie, but Harry ignored him. Because this was the section he'd watched Neville rehearsing one-on-one with Draco the other day. The _pas de deux_ with Luna. He watched in awe as Neville completely decimated the choreography, every bit the prima ballerina as Draco was. What made it even more delicious was the seething look of jealousy on Zabini's face.

The duet didn't last long. Just as it was occurring to Harry that Draco might have swapped with Neville because his ankle was hurting, Neville and Luna did their sensual arm movement; the one Harry had demonstrated with Draco. Then they split apart to a heartfelt round of applause. The music changed and Draco took centre stage once again.

Harry realised what was coming next.

"Oh, shit," he said again. This time there was no sense of mirth. In fact, his stomach dropped into his trainers.

It was the fouettes.

Ron shifted the lights into the next mood, darkening the edges of the stage so the sole focus was on Draco under the spotlights. He had several steps of build up before he started the turns that he hadn't practiced since twisting his ankle.

Harry didn't breathe.

He got the reckless urge to try and stop the moment for happening, to protect Draco. But of course there was nothing he could do to stop time from marching on, and before he knew it, Draco pushed off the floorboards and began to spin.

"One," Harry found himself breathing, almost unaware he was doing so. "Two. Three." He stood, his hands clutching the edge of the sound desk as his heart pounded. "Four. Five. Six – _come on."_ He blinked, unsure if it was perspiration at the corner of his eyes or tears. "Seven. Eight." He impatiently pushed his glasses up his nose where they'd slipped. "Nine. _Ten!"_

Harry wasn't sure if Draco gave a slight wobble on the very last turn, but he slammed his foot down and threw his arms up in triumph as the audience went wild, cheering down the house.

The rest of the show proceeded as something of a blur for Harry. He wasn't sure what was happening, other than everything seemed to tick along without incident. As long as he followed the cue sheet, it all appeared to be fine. But it was like his heart didn't leave his mouth until the final curtain fell and the house lights came on again.

He was just so damn _proud_ of Draco. He was proud of him for nailing the fouettes when not everyone had faith he could. But he was prouder that he had shared the limelight with Neville, giving him his chance to shine. There were all kinds of representatives from the ballet and theatre world watching the show tonight. Now they all knew that Neville Longbottom could hold his own with the likes of Draco Malfoy.

Harry wanted to go find Draco. To hug him and tell him how awesome he was.

But that wasn't his place.

Draco would have Zabini and Pansy to congratulate him. Zabini to take him home and show him exactly how fantastic he'd been. Although…the look on his face hadn't been one of loving support, Harry had to say.

But the point was, it wasn't Harry's place to be with Draco at this moment. He had his own people to revel with. Harry just wasn't cut out to be a part of their world.

With a sigh, he congratulated Ron and Lee on a tremendous show, then began coordinating the breakdown of the set.

Draco was most likely already out celebrating. That was just the way it had to be.

7

The set wasn't all that complicated. A lot of the ambience had been created with lighting. So Harry just boxed up all the props and assisted the stage hands in taking down several large white boards, walking them out to the waiting removal truck. The sounds of night-time London buzzed around them in the alleyway by the theatre.

Harry wondered if Draco and the others might have gone back to the Leaky Cauldron for their revelry. He had half a crazy idea to pop in on his way home. He only wanted to congratulate Draco on absolutely killing it on stage.

But what if Harry walked in on Draco snogging Zabini? Or any guy for that matter? He didn't think he was strong enough to cope with having that image seared into his brain. It was best if he just went home, alone.

Several of the crew members patted Harry's back as he made his way up to do a sweep of the changing rooms.

"Great job, mate!"

"Hope to work with you again!"

Harry smiled as he climbed the stairs, tired, but surprisingly happy. Despite his own personal feelings regarding a certain dancer, the show had been a resounding success. He loved his job, after all, and felt very satisfied to see the show come together so well. He even had a week off before starting his next production, and this one was Shakespeare, so he was really looking forward to it.

After a couple of days playing video games in his pyjamas, he was bound to forget all about Draco Malfoy, he was sure.

Except…when he opened the door to the men's changing room, there was a solitary figure sat inside.

"Draco?" Harry spluttered, coming to a halt at the door's threshold. "I – what are you still doing here?"

Draco had obviously showered and changed. He was wearing a loose sort of black tunic that slipped off one of his shoulders, black leggings and nothing on his feet. His hair was damp and brushed back. The monochromatic blackness of his outfit made his hair and skin look even paler.

He was sat on one of the dressing tables where the guys usually spread their makeup and styling products. His legs were swinging gently back and forth, his toes almost touching the carpet. The place was pretty much deserted now, just a random scarf someone had left draped over the one of mirrors and some old, unwanted concealer lying on a nearby table. Draco's faux leather rucksack was sat by his feet

"I was waiting for you," Draco replied evenly, his long fingers curled around the side of the table by his thighs.

"Oh," said Harry. He was too afraid to come any closer into the room. "Well, it's pretty much just me left, now," he said, making awkward conversation. "I'll be locking up soon."

Draco licked his lips. He looked different with no makeup on at all. Still beautiful but rawer in a way.

"Why have you been avoiding me?" he asked bluntly. "Why did you leave the club?"

Pain lanced through Harry's chest. He didn't want to do this. If Draco wanted to make him squirm, it would be all too easy.

"You were incredible tonight," Harry said quietly. "I just wanted to tell you that. If you want to head out, I can lock the doors behind you."

"I don't want that," Draco said coldly. "I want you to explain to me why I was suddenly beneath your time, attention, or even civility."

"What?" Harry spluttered. He was so surprised he let the door swing shut, leaving him and Draco alone in the room together. It would look weird if he yanked it open again. He could just escape in a minute. But what had Draco meant? "I didn't – you're not – _you were with Zabini."_

Draco frowned. "I beg your pardon?" he asked.

Harry swallowed the lump that was threatening to rise in his throat. "You – we'd been holding hands, then you were making out with Blaise Zabini. It's okay, I know I'm not like you guys, I just-"

"I never made out with Blaise," Draco interrupted, tilting his head.

Harry closed his eyes. "Don't mock me, Draco, okay?" he whispered. "I saw you both, on the dance floor. He had his hands all over you, you were grinding, just about to snog. I – I didn't want to see that."

Fuck. He shouldn't be admitting all this to Draco. Why should he make himself any more vulnerable than he already was? But he felt he needed to defend himself. He'd never thought of Draco as being _beneath_ him. That was crazy.

The touch of fingers against his hand startled Harry into snapping his eyes open. Draco had moved silently and was now standing in front of Harry, their hands once again entwined.

"I _never_ made out with Blaise," Draco said softly but firmly. "That bastard broke my heart and humiliated me. He put his hands on me for about three seconds before I turned around and told him _'no',_ in no uncertain terms. I thought he was trying to mess with me. But now…I think he was trying to mess with you. Again."

Harry stepped back an inch so his shoulder blades were pressed against the closed door. He suddenly realised how dark it was in the changing room now the door was closed. Only a couple of the mirrors had their lights on, but it was enough to see Draco's features as Harry looked between their linked fingers and Draco's face. His expression was serious. Perhaps…concerned?

"Mess with me?" Harry repeated.

Draco nodded. "I'm pretty sure he worked out how crazy I am about you." Draco chuckled. "Oh, Blaise wouldn't be able to stand that."

Harry's mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't seem to shut it.

"You…what?" he asked. He'd heard what Draco had said well enough. He just couldn't quite believe it.

Draco tilted his head. He was a few inches taller than Harry, so he looked down at him through golden lashes. Then he lifted his free hand and placed it on Harry's waist, taking a step closer so their faces were so close Harry could feel Draco's minty breath on his lips.

"I think you're lovely, Harry Potter," Draco murmured. "And you not talking to me made me very upset."

Harry wasn't sure his heart was still beating. He was fairly certain he'd forgotten how to breath.

"I – I thought you and Zabini had the same bet," Harry admitted. It was like he was in a trance, unable to look away from Draco's silvery eyes. "I thought you were trying to see who could fuck me first."

Draco's look darkened and he stepped closer again, pressing their thighs…and other areas…together. "I would never do something so vulgar," Draco growled. Harry shivered. Partly in exhilarated relief. Partly because he was becoming so turned on he couldn't think straight. "But you are sort of right, in a way."

"How so?" Harry asked, worried the other shoe was going to drop after all.

Draco leaned in, so his lips were brushing against Harry's ear. "I have a feeling I'm always going to want to bet on you, Harry. Only a fool would bet against. You're too good."

"At what?" Harry asked, breathless.

"Everything," Draco replied, catching Harry's earlobe between his lips. Harry moaned and Draco chuckled. "You were also right in my intentions, although they had nothing to do with Blaise. In fact, I'd call them entirely mutually beneficial between both you and I."

"In what way?" Harry was aware he was asking a lot of questions, but he felt that was part of the little game Draco was playing. Except this was a game Harry _wanted_ to be playing.

As if to prove him right, Draco trailed his lips just scarcely over Harry's cheek and looked him dead in the eye.

"I am so _very_ desperate to fuck you," Draco drawled, seduction dripping from his every word.

Harry couldn't wait any longer. He couldn't second guess. He was dizzy with desire and Draco was _right there._

He grabbed either side of Draco's gorgeous face, then yanked him down for a desperate, messy kiss.

8

Draco's lips crashed against Harry's, kissing him frantically, hugging him to his body and grinding his hard cock against Harry's hip. The thin leggings left nothing to the imagination as Harry pushed back, desperate to feel everything of Draco.

Harry couldn't really believe this was happening. But he was too scared to stop and question it. He wanted to lose himself in the moment.

It was tempting to try and protect himself and argue that this was probably a one-time thing. That Draco just wanted to have a bit of fun before he left for his next show, wherever that may be. But the way he'd talked about Harry…a tiny part of him hoped that Draco like Harry just as much as Harry liked him.

Because he did. He _really_ liked this prickly, funny, beautiful and insanely talented man. In the kind of way that meant he wanted to grab a hold of him tightly and never let him go.

For now, he settled for grabbing him literally. He slid his fingers through that silky blond hair, holding tight as he plunged his tongue inside Draco's mouth, their lips crashing together again and again. His cock strained against his jeans as Draco pushed him against the door, trapping him deliciously.

There were no words spoken, only moans and gasps as Draco hoisted Harry up by his arse, wrapping his legs around his waist. Harry could feel the muscles of his torso working against his thighs. Harry knew Draco was strong by watching him dance, but it was a different deal all together to feel it for himself.

A sudden thought broke through his lust haze, snapping him back to his senses.

"Your ankle," he blurted, panting for air. He knew he wasn't a big guy, but he still weighed a fair bit, even if the door was helping Draco hold him up.

Draco chuckled, his pale lips slightly pinker than usual and plump from Harry's kisses ravaging his mouth. "You're so sweet, Harry Potter," Draco said, gently sliding Harry's glasses up his nose where they'd slid down. "My ankle feels fine, but if you're really worried, I'll lie you down to fuck you."

Harry moaned and bit his lip, unable to keep his eyes open and looking at Draco. This was all a bit intense. Did Draco really want to have sex here, now?

"Oh my god," Harry rasped.

Draco laughed again, but it was with fondness, not scorn. "Oh, Harry," he murmured, kissing his lips. "I'm going to fuck you so sweetly. You're going to beg me for more."

Harry felt a bit dizzy. He wasn't averse to sex on a first date – even before a first date – but ten minutes ago he thought Draco had been making fun of him all week and they were never going to see each other again.

As if sensing Harry needed a moment, Draco let him back down to his feet. He rested his palm on Harry's hip, while taking Harry's hand in his own, cradling them both in the dip where his shoulder met his chest. Then he began to rock them gently back and forth, their temples resting together.

"Oh dear, Draco," Harry said with a light chuckle. "You're not attempting to dance with me, are you? It'll be a disaster."

Draco hummed and nuzzled their cheeks together. "Oh, I'll have you dancing with me in no time, darling. And not just in between the sheets. You have heart, I feel it. So that means you have rhythm."

Harry seriously doubted that. But Draco's confidence in him warmed his insides, like a flower blossoming in his chest. Harry had always made his own way, stood on his own two feet. Hearing someone have faith in him made a nice change.

Draco lead them with ease, subtly moving their bodies to a beat only he could hear in his head but Harry could feel where their bodies connected. He felt a deep contentment settle over his heart. He was still turned on, but this was deeper than just a longing for sex.

"Are you sticking around in London?" Harry blurted out. He felt Draco's grin before he leaned back to smile at Harry.

"Why?" he asked with a sparkle in his silver eyes. "Do you have a good offer for me to?"

Harry blushed. "I don't know how good it is," he mumbled.

Draco sighed. "No, no, this won't do," he said with a huff. "We're going to have to work very hard on this self-esteem issue, Harry. Honestly, how you could _ever_ think I'd pick Blaise over you?" He tutted but Harry blushed.

"Blaise is gorgeous," he argued.

"Blaise is a prick," Draco said flatly. _"You're_ gorgeous. And, yes, to answer your question. My parents bought me a flat in Notting Hill. I very much look forward to dragging you there shortly. My next show is in London, but I was planning on finding a long-term gig in the West End, if possible."

Harry bit his lip, looking up at Draco through his eyelashes. "So, um," he said, feeling awkward. But after this week's stupid misunderstanding, he felt it better to ask outright. "Do you maybe want to try, uh, dating?"

Harry was shit at this. He'd not really had a proper boyfriend before. But he was keen to get this right with Draco.

"Hmm, I don't know," Draco said playfully, still dancing them around the changing room. "Don't you want to see if I'm any good in the sack before you commit to being my boyfriend?"

Harry knew he went bright red, but dirty talk had never been his strong suit. "I've seen you dance, Draco," he said quietly. "I've seen how generous and patient you are. I don't see how you could be anything other than spectacular."

Draco stopped moving them, instead bending down to capture Harry's lips in a scalding hot kiss. "Only one way to find out, beautiful," he said.

He grabbed Harry by the hand and dragged him to the door. After throwing it open, he pulled him out to the corridor, looked up and down, and when he saw nobody was there, yanked Harry after him down the hall.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked with a giddy chuckle. He felt like a teenager, sneaking around to find somewhere at school to get off with one of the boys from an older year he couldn't even the remember the name of now. Just two baby gays discovering hand jobs and snogging for the first time.

Draco spun and seized Harry's face for another kiss, giving him a devilish grim. "I want you comfy, gorgeous," he said. "I told you, you're going to be begging and crying for all the right reasons."

" _Fuck,"_ Harry hissed, uncomfortably hard in his jeans. "Draco, I haven't-"

"Shh," Draco shushed.

He'd opened the women's costume storage room and was already dragging Harry inside. There were rows and rows of dresses and sequined leotards and tutus and military jackets. But Harry had a feeling Draco had scoped out this room beforehand. Because he led them directly to several faux-fur coats, all hanging from the rail together.

"Here we go," he said triumphantly, pulling all the coats off together and dropping them on the carpet to make a sort of nest. He dropped to his knees, yanking Harry down with him. They laughed and kissed as they toppled onto their sides, cushioned by the beautifully soft and fluffy coats.

"Draco," Harry said firmly. He pulled his face away to look at his new, stunning lover, holding onto his tunic top with bunched fists. He hated to spoil the fun, but… "What are you thinking of? Because I don't have any condoms. Or lube."

Draco bit his lip. "Well, I'm on PrEP," he said.

"Me too," said Harry in relief. Most guys in London seemed to do it now. If there was a daily pill you could take to stop you becoming infected with HIV, why not? "And I'm negative on everything else, I think."

"Same," said Draco, a glint in his eye. He was back to kissing Harry's neck, his hands roaming around the button and zip on Harry's jeans. "I'm game to go ahead if you are."

"You mean…?" Harry asked.

Draco hummed. "Oh, I think I promised to fuck you, darling. I want to bury my cock so deep in you I'll be tickling your tonsils."

Harry snorted but the laugh was cut short by his animalistic moan as Draco palmed his cock through his jeans. "I – that sounds great – but what about lube?"

"It's okay, I promise," Draco said, working the zip down. When he got his hand on Harry's cock through his boxers, Harry shuddered and gripped onto Draco's shoulders. "I precum like a fountain. We'll be fine."

Harry didn't want to stop, but he wasn't convinced. "Really?" he asked dubiously.

At that, Draco did pause. He looked Harry in the eye, his hand still resting on his cock. "I swear. But if you don't like it, if you're not comfortable, we can blow each other or frot. You just say the word."

 _Fuck._ Harry was such a sucker for a confident lover. But he'd never found one in the past that wanted to stick around. This bode very well for him and Draco's future, at least he hoped.

"I trust you," Harry stammered.

Draco kissed his lips sweetly. "I trust you to tell me if it doesn't feel good. Okay?"

Harry nodded. "Okay," he said shakily. He was a little nervous, but mostly, he was eager with anticipation.

Draco began to rub him again, his fingers finding their way through Harry's boxers and onto his hard cock. He wasn't sure why he was worried about Draco being slippery enough; he was leaking enough in anticipation himself to attempt anal without extra lube.

Draco's kisses were unrelenting. It made Harry feel like he had been thinking about this all week. Maybe he had? Harry wished he hadn't run off in an insecure pique the other night. But then they wouldn't be here, in their little den, about rut like animals. Harry had to say he'd never experienced anything like it.

Draco moved his hands, pushing Harry's jeans and boxers over his hips and arse. Harry kicked his trainers away, grateful they were years old and easily mailable. Within seconds, he was shaking the clothes from his legs, leaving his bottom half exposed.

Draco hummed. "Oh, god, look at those legs," he murmured, running his palms over Harry's thighs.

Harry supposed they were quite muscular, but they were also hairy and nothing compared to the power Draco possessed. He was just about to protest they weren't anything to write home about, when he glanced up and met Draco's steely gaze. That look seemed to be daring Harry to put himself down.

"Thank you," he whispered instead. He felt his cheeks heat up, but it was worth it for the feral grin that spread over Draco's lips.

"Good _boy,"_ he mumbled as he kissed Harry's neck and fondled his cock again. He pushed Harry onto his back. The faux-fur tickled deliciously against the backs of his legs. The praise made him flushed with pride. It almost made him believe Draco's compliments, too. If Draco thought it was true, then maybe Harry could just have faith in Draco?

"You really were wonderful tonight, Draco," Harry said breathlessly as Draco climbed on top of him. He had his hands on Draco's slim but muscular waist, caressing little circles against the tunic with his fingers.

Draco scoffed. "I'm only just getting started." Harry smacked his arse. Draco sucked in a breath of air and grinned. "Oh, do that again."

"No, you idiot," Harry said fondly. "The show. I…well, you gave the _pas de deux_ to Neville. And you smashed the fouettes out of the park."

Draco smiled, his bravado gone for a second. He brushed Harry's hair back from his forehead, looking down with affection. "I had a different _pas de deux_ in mind for this evening."

Harry slapped Draco's arse again. This time he only bit his lip a little in pleasure. "If I have to take a compliment, so do you," Harry said firmly. "What you did for Neville was kind and generous. And the performance you gave yourself was nothing short of a miracle after a week off with injury."

Draco licked his lips. Then he leaned down and kissed Harry sweetly and gently. "Thank you," he said.

Harry felt like he should say 'good boy' back like Draco had told him. But he didn't feel right. That wasn't his role here. "You're welcome," he said quietly instead. He wanted Draco to know how much he admired him, for reasons beyond his good looks and talent.

Slowly, Draco peeled off his T-shirt, leaving him bare and exposed on the coats. The faux-fur and Draco's soft clothes all caressed Harry's hot skin, making him desperate with lust. He was so turned on he was more than willing to try Draco's proposition, even though he was apprehensive. There was just one problem.

"Less _clothes,"_ he whined, sticking his bottom lip out and tugging at Draco's tunic. "More _naked."_

Draco laughed. "And people tell me I'm a brat. All right, Harry." He leaned back on his heels, straddling Harry's hips. "Get to work."

Oh, fuck. Draco wanted Harry to undress him? It wasn't like Harry hadn't pulled clothes off guys he'd been about to fuck before. But…Draco was just _watching_ him. Like a cat who'd cornered a mouse. What if Harry fucked up?

How could he fuck up, really? All Draco was wearing was the tunic and some leggings, maybe some underwear. Certainly no shoes or socks. Harry could manage to divest him of that, surely?

Trying not to let his hands tremble too much, Harry reached up and slid his fingers under the hem of Draco's tunic, lying halfway down his thighs. Draco sat perfectly still as Harry ran his hands along his legs, across his hips and up the sides of his torso, the cotton material bunching up over Harry's wrists as he did. When he got to his nipples, Draco obediently raised his arms and leaned forward a little, allowing Harry to pull the garment free.

He tossed it aside along with his own clothes. The temptation to yank Draco down for a kiss and feel their chests brush together was great. But Harry resisted. It would be so much better once they were completely naked, and he didn't want to lose his bottle now when he was halfway through the job.

However, now he wasn't sure how to proceed. How did he get Draco's leggings off when he was straddling Harry, pinning him to the floor? Harry bought himself a few seconds by running his palm over the bulge of Draco's erection through the thin material, making Draco hiss and bite his lip. But then he was back where he started.

There was nothing for it. Harry took a deep breath, then grabbed Draco by the hips and rolled them both in one sudden, fluid motion. Draco gasped in surprise, then laughed as he ended up on his back.

"Oh, Harry," he said with a chuckle. "I like it when you get a bit bossy."

Harry blushed and tugged the leggings down over Draco's hips. As it turned out, he was _not_ wearing any underwear.

"I think you're better at being bossy," Harry said, distracting himself from the sight of Draco's glistening cock springing free. His precum had already made a damp patch in the crotch of the leggings. The cock itself was much like the rest of Draco; long, slim, but strong looking. Harry's stomach flipped as he thought about sucking it.

 _Well, why not?_ he thought as he tossed the leggings away, leaving Draco gloriously naked for him. He already had Draco on his back. It would be no trouble at all to shimmy down and have a quick taste.

So that's what he did.

"Fuck, _Harry,"_ Draco cried, grabbing a handful of Harry's hair and gripping tight. "Nope, you do just fine at being bossy, too. I think we should take it in turns from now on. You know, for fairness. _Fuck."_

He was babbling but Harry didn't care. In fact, he loved it. He opened up his throat and swallowed Draco's cock as deep as he could, massaging his balls as he did. He didn't want to make Draco come like this; he was looking forward to getting fucked far too much. But he did want to play with his new delicious lover a little. Savour the moment.

Draco moaned and writhed, squirming just enough to show Harry how much he was enjoying it but not enough to disrupt Harry's flow. _"Harry…Harry,"_ Draco gasped, jutting his hips and grabbing at the coats. "Oh, darling, that's so good. You feel amazing. Fuck. No, stop. Get up here and kiss me."

Harry grinned as he came off Draco's cock with a pop and obediently moved back up to kiss him on the lips. "Afraid you were going to come?" he asked devilishly.

Draco seized the back of his head and kissed him sloppily. "I've got a bit more stamina than that, sweetheart," he growled. "I just don't want to rush." He grabbed Harry's cock and squeezed making him jolt and groan. "I envisage many sleepy mornings where I let you wake me up with my cock in your mouth. You'll let me fuck your throat for _hours_ and you'll _love_ it."

Harry wasn't sure what turned him on more. The dirty talk, or the implication that this was just the start of something long term between them. If Harry was honest, it was probably the relationship. The idea that Draco was already thinking of all the different ways they could fuck over the coming months implied they were going to be _together_. It made warmth blossom Harry's chest as well as his groin.

"Oh, Draco," he murmured, running his hands over Draco's arms. He didn't protest as Draco let go of his cock and rolled them back over.

"I want you under me," Draco said, nuzzling their noses together. "Is that okay?"

From experience, Harry knew if he closed his eyes and didn't think about who he was with, anal sex felt the best on all fours with his lover behind him on his knees. But Harry wanted to see Draco, to kiss him. He wanted Draco looming over him, pinning him down. Dominating him.

"More than okay," Harry said.

Draco grinned and kissed him on the lips. "Good."

Harry watched as Draco rubbed his fingers over his wet cock. He really was precuming a significant amount. Harry quirked a grin. He could get used to this. Then Draco reached down and began caressing Harry's hole, probing his entrance with his middle finger.

"Fuck," Harry moaned.

He lost himself in Draco's kisses, relaxing to allow his finger through the tight ring of muscle and stroke inside him. Harry's cock was throbbing, desperate for attention. But Draco ignored it for now, pushing another finger inside Harry.

"Can I lift my feet up?" Harry asked.

Draco grinned down at him and slid his fingers out. "Sure," Draco said. "Do you want more stretching or can I try to get in?"

"Try," Harry said, nodding.

He could stretch more around Draco's cock. He found to get really loose, it was best to ask his partner to rim him for a while. But he was too impatient right now. He looked forward to asking Draco to eat him out sometime soon, though.

Draco leaned back a little, maybe expecting Harry to wrap his feet around his waist. But Harry found he was okay exposing himself more than that with Draco. So he went right ahead and lifted his legs up and propped his heels on Draco's shoulders.

Draco's eyes lit up. "Oh, darling," he said, wickedness clear on his face.

He leaned back down, lining his cock up with Harry's hole. It wasn't the fattest, so Harry was confident it wouldn't take long to get him inside. He hoped not. God, he wanted Draco to bang the ever-loving fuck out of him, _now._

Draco was only too happy to comply. He kissed Harry's lips sweetly, over and over with a little tongue as he pushed through Harry's hole. They both hissed and gasped and gripped onto each other's arms, backs and shoulders.

"Harry, sweetheart," Draco murmured. He was trembling and beads of perspiration were forming on his forehead. "You feel so good, I knew you would."

Together, they worked until Draco was balls deep, bottomed out in Harry's arse and feeling incredible. Draco's long cock easily stroked Harry's prostate, making Harry twitch and cry out. He felt like he could come right this moment. But that would be an awful waste. He wanted them to fuck for as long as possible first. He wanted to treasure this moment.

He took several slow breaths. Draco seemed to sense he needed a few seconds to gather himself. So he gently kissed Harry's neck and stroked his arm with the hand that wasn't holding himself up. Harry dug his fingers into Draco's shoulder blade and the back of his neck until he felt like he wasn't going to shake apart.

"Okay," he rasped. "Okay, I'm good."

Draco didn't double check. It made Harry feel like he trusted him to tell him the truth. He just slowly started to move, drawing his cock out a short way then easing it back in, building up a rhythm. Shivers of pleasure rippled over Harry's body.

"Holy fuck, Draco," he gasped. "So good, don't stop. I – oh – _yes."_

Draco pushed against the back of Harry's thighs to kiss him once more with searing passion, then he kneeled back and got to work. Harry stared into his eyes as he pounded his arse, each thrust hitting that sweet spot, bringing Harry's orgasm closer inch by inch.

"I'm close," Draco grunted.

Harry nodded desperately. "Me too," he said.

Draco took hold of Harry's prick, wrapping his fingers around for Harry to thrust into. The added pressure on his sensitive cock undid Harry within seconds. Feeling like Draco had enveloped his whole body, he came in a sudden wave of ecstasy, clinging to Draco's hips for dear life. Draco rode him hard, slamming his cock into him again and again until he went stiff, crying out and gripping Harry so hard it hurt, in the best kind of way.

Then he collapsed on top of Harry, a soft chuckle escaping his throat.

Harry dropped his legs back to the floor, blinking sweat from his eyes and hugging Draco to him, his cum slippery between them. Draco's softening cock felt so good in his sensitive arse. "Draco," he whispered, unsure if he was going to pass out. After a moment or two, his vision sharpened again and he felt less dizzy. He was amazing his glasses had stayed on his face throughout the encounter. "Oh, Draco. That was amazing."

Draco pulled his head up enough to look at Harry, a lazy smile on his face. "So good," he agreed. He kissed Harry's lips tenderly.

After a minute or so Harry's high began to fade and reality crept back in. "We've made quite a mess," he said, looking up at Draco. What he really wanted to ask was, 'Did you mean it? Do you want to be together? Or is this a one-time thing?'

Draco stroked Harry's hair back and pushed his glasses up his nose again. His cock was soft now, but it still felt so nice inside Harry.

"Oh, Harry," Draco said. "You think this is a mess? That's adorable. You wait until I cover you in chocolate and spend a whole weekend licking it back off you."

Harry shuddered at the erotic thought but he also laughed. "So…you want to do this again?" he asked tentatively, giving in to his insecurities.

Draco didn't mock him though. He just cupped the side of Harry's face and held his gaze with a sincere expression on his face. "I'd like you to be my boyfriend, Harry Potter," he said. The words made Harry's heart leap. "I'm afraid I'm horribly possessive and I'm quite keen to tell the world you're all mine."

Harry swallowed, not trusting himself to speak right away. "All yours?" he asked.

Draco smiled affectionately. "All mine," he confirmed. "If I can be all yours?"

Harry felt tears prick in his eyes, this time from happiness. "Of course," he said without pause.

He and Draco may have gotten off to a rocky start, but in his heart, Harry knew that this was just the beginning of something absolutely wonderful.

Epilogue

Several Months Later

Harry grumbled as the bed dipped beside him. _"Noo,"_ he mumbled with an air of petulance. "Don't go, it's so early. Stay."

Draco chuckled, leaning down to kiss his cheek and brush back his hair, mussed from sleep. "It's okay, darling. Go back to sleep."

But Harry was awake enough now to fumble his hand over the bedside cabinet and find his glasses. Slipping them on, he looked up at his boyfriend and smiled. "I'll make it worth your while if you stay," he suggested saucily.

Draco laughed again and bit his lip, looking down at Harry with extreme fondness. "You make a very tempting offer, sweetheart. But someone has to work around here."

"Oi," Harry said, slapping his arm, making them both grin.

He was only playing around. He wouldn't really make Draco late, not when things were going so well. For two creative professionals working in the theatre industry, they were extremely fortunate to both have steady work in London. Harry had worked several shows in a row now with the Royal Shakespeare Company, most of them at The Globe on the Southbank. And Draco had gotten himself a yearlong contract working on the new Andrew Lloyd-Webber musical.

It hadn't taken Draco long to ask Harry to move into his apartment in Notting Hill. He was possessive in the best kind of way. Never interfering with Harry's friends or stopping him going out by himself or any of that crap. But by having the utmost faith in their relationship, and Harry for that matter. He treated Harry like he hung the moon. Harry didn't always understand it, but he felt pretty much the same way about Draco, so he felt it best not to question it.

His heart ached with love, even after all these months together. Nothing made him happier that this Christmas he had someone he wanted to spend the holiday with, to spoil with love and presents and indulge in too much cheese and wine with.

Someone he wanted to spend many more Christmases with. All of them, he hoped.

Harry knew he wasn't always the most observant of people. But even he couldn't fail to notice when Draco loudly complained Harry didn't have any rings and made him try on several of Draco's. 'Just for fun' apparently.

Harry poked Draco's side. He was already dressed in a rehearsal outfit of leggings and several layers of vests and T-shirts to peel off later. His coat was in his arms, ready to head out the door. But Harry knew his ticklish spots by now.

"Can't I have my present early, Draco?" he wheedled playfully. "You can have yours." He batted his eyelashes at him. Harry had managed to find an incredible deal on a two-week trip to New Zealand for them next summer. He couldn't wait to see Draco's face when he opened the tickets.

But Draco just arched a pale eyebrow and leaned over to nibble on Harry's earlobe. "Wasn't that my present last night?" he asked, devilishly. Harry blushed hard, his cheeks probably glowing with heat.

He was still sore from the borderline obscene sex they'd spent half the night indulging in. Draco kept coming up with new and interesting ways to make Harry come, new kinks to drive him wild. Harry was waiting for the shine to dim from their new relationship bliss, but so far, things were better than ever.

Sure, they had the occasional augment. Draco had a filthy temper when he was over-tired and Harry got grumpy when Draco nagged him about household chores. But they always made up and tried to talk about what was really on their minds.

The truth was, Harry was so in love, little disagreements always fizzled away after a while, especially once they started cuddling.

Draco must have sensed Harry was feeling just a tiny bit clingy, because he put his coat down and lay back down on the bed, hugging Harry close to him. "Go back to sleep, darling," he said gently, kissing Harry's hair and caressing his arm. "I'll get back from work about the same time as you tonight. I can pick us up that yummy risotto you love and we've got more of the red wine in from last weekend. We can cosy up on the couch with a Christmas film."

"Elf?" Harry asked hopefully. Elf was his favourite, but they hadn't watched it yet.

Draco laughed and kissed Harry's lips. "So long as we can watch The Holiday tomorrow. You know Kate Winslet is my goddess."

Harry rolled his eyes. He'd been pretending he didn't want to watch that one. But he secretly didn't mind at all. He just loved teasing Draco. "Sure," he said with a pout.

"Come here," Draco said with a grin, catching the lip between his teeth, then segueing into a tender kiss. "Take an Insta photo with me?"

Harry smiled and ran his fingers down Draco's cheek. "Is that so I make you look good by looking like a bird's nest in comparison?"

Draco scoffed, already taking his phone out. "You are your most adorable in the mornings, and you know it," he said, angling up the shot.

The truth was Harry had been scared to make himself a part of Draco's Instagram life when he found out he had over ten thousand followers. But the majority had warmed to Harry with incredible enthusiasm and Draco's followers had almost doubled since they'd started posting together about their London life. Companies even paid them to do a bit of promo work every now and again, or sponsored their clothes. It was pretty cool.

Not as cool as the way Draco snuggled up to Harry, nuzzling him for kisses while he snapped a few shots. Then he put the phone down and kissed Harry for real.

"Urgh, I have to go," Draco groaned after several minutes. Just when Harry was starting to get hot and bothered. Damn him. He'd have to have a shower wank instead.

"I'll let you go if you promise we can pick up where we left off tonight," Harry told him.

Draco placed a single, chaste kiss on the tip of his nose. "Promise, gorgeous," he said.

Harry watched him go and refused to feel melancholy. It was just because he was all snuggly in bed and he wanted to keep Draco beside him. But Draco was absolutely loving this new show, and he got to work with Pansy again, so Harry was happy to wave him off. Harry should enjoy his slight lie in then get himself ready for a busy day of work too. He was working on a beautiful children's Christmas show about a magic pair of ballet slippers. So he even felt close to Draco when he was there.

His phone pinged, making him pick it up. "Oh, what a surprise," he said to himself with a grin. "'Draco Malfoy has tagged you in a photo on Instagram.'" But when he looked at the message under the picture, Harry's smile was rivalled by the lump in his throat and the tears that pricked in his eyes.

'I love my job,' the tag read, 'but it's so hard to leave this one in bed (in more ways than one!) I adore you theboywholived. Sorry to make you wait for your Christmas present, but it will be worth it, I promise. You are my everything. Whoever thought a twisted ankle would be the best thing to ever happen to us? Maybe only beaten by a fur coat ;) You're my lucky star, my compass at night. No matter how badly I fall, I know you'll always catch me. I want this _pas de deux_ to never end.'

The message was followed by several hearts and hashtags. Harry smiled, allowing the happy tears to escape from either side of his eyes as he hugged the phone to his chest.

In the end, he just double tapped the picture to like it and replied with his own three love hearts. He was tempted to write several texts to Draco, but he deleted them all. Finally, when he had to get up and shower for work, he settled on a simple 'I love you'.

Harry was sure he knew what his Christmas present was going to be. Whether Draco gave it to him tonight or waiting until Christmas morning, Harry guessed the gift would be accompanied by a question.

And when Draco asked Harry to marry him, Harry would say yes. Because they were destined to dance together in this duet forever.

The End


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